Senseless
by damnation soldier
Summary: All Helena knew was her vendetta; find her disguised, presumably simpleton father hidden away somewhere in the globe and kill him. She'd stop at nothing to get that done. But when an interesting, or borderline eccentric character who's a former private investigator from Hub City admits to wanting to help her do just that.. she doesn't know what to think.


**Senseless**  


_"Conviction isn't anyone's strong suit when they're pitted up against someone like me."_

_"Then you'll find it astounding Miss Bertinelli, just how little I need to do to affect yours. It's my specialty to make you question yourself."_

Summary: All Helena knew was her vendetta; find her disguised, presumably simpleton father hidden away somewhere in the globe and kill him. She'd stop at nothing to get that done. But when an interesting, or borderline eccentric character who's a former private investigator from Hub City admits to wanting to help her do just that.. she doesn't know what to think.

Disclaimer: I do not own anything, and do not aim at making any profit with this story. All characters belong to CW's Arrow series or DC Comics, apart from any relatively minor original characters featured, which are mine.

A/N: This story is set post "The Huntress Returns", I'm pretty sure you can already tell. My first time writing for Arrow. Reviews are very much appreciated.. and needed.

* * *

Prologue

* * *

_"You won't shoot me.. You're not a murderer, remember?"_

_Her head tilting, she stared evenly into his eyes. She still held the marshal's Remington 870, poised to give any threat a bullet where it kills._

_"But you are," Oliver answers, his voice just as breathy and exhausted as hers. "And if I let you go, that blood," of the tally of people she murdered, "will be on my hands."_

_Seemingly resolved about his duty, he sighs heavily. "I'm sorry."_

_Ollie was bluffing, he would never have the heart to kill her. _

_Maybe they'd fallen out of love, she certainly did when he'd taken measures to butt into her family business, but him? He may not love her, hell he might hate her for all she's done but she knew the Queen had enough harbored feelings to spare her._

_Yes, she could see it in his eyes, the tiniest bit of hesitation, remorse – something Helena didn't have. There was no luxury in bearing such mercy in her soul that she never let her guard down, always expecting the worst._

_Bless her that she did. _

_After the short pause the arrow whizzed sharply, but even in the remarkably short distance they were apart, Helena knew what she had to do. Dropping her firearm, she revved sideways and promptly snatched the arrow heading straight for her heart out of thin air almost instinctively. She caught it with perfect timing, the deadly tip just inches away from piercing her chest._

_Oliver's eyes widened as she chuckled darkly. She would've bet he didn't expect that coming from her or probably anyone at all, knowing it was a hat trick she pulled. _

_With a bitter smile never leaving her face, the young woman stood straight, twiddling the arrow by her fingers. "I practiced that move," she confessed, recalling her nights in the hills of Taiwan which she spent perfecting her hand-to-hand combat and reflexes, even going so far as rehearsing how to very much physically catch incoming projectiles, specifically lethal knifes and arrows. Tossing the thing which had been the latter onto the grass, she stepped forward, hissing, "I have a feeling I might need it someday."_

_She's within his arm's reach now, her eyes penetrating his, before they falter for a moment. Her lip quivered from the haunting realization as their eyes locked together once more. She choked, "You would've killed me."_

_Oliver looked like he wanted to say something, but she'd had it. It was far too late. Months too late for him to say anything that will ever mend her life ambitions, her one way to hell to a war path._

_Finding no words could express the anger and pain she felt, Helena boldly struck at the archer._

* * *

_Thump! Thump, thump! _

The memory of her last interaction with Oliver Queen before her run from him through a cheap shot kept replaying in her mind as her workout progressed. It's been three months since the encounter, since she failed to draw out her coward of a father.

In the span of those three months, Helena only consumed herself with one thing; getting stronger. It was necessary for her long, tiresome quest.

_Thump! Thump, thump, thump!_

Helena fired a series of rapid punches, each one rattling the large punching bag from its force. She'd been going at this for the past hour and a half, two if that was counting her warmups, and a total of three if she began working on her marksmanship.

A glistening layer of perspiration coated her entire body. The Bertinelli was wearing a black tank top that showed off her toned arms and bared her midriff, along with comfortable purple trainers and a pair of pumas.

With a low growl, the brunette did a spinning side kick at the bag, ultimately breaking the chains that kept it hanging on the small hook of the basement's ceiling.

It marked the end of today's kickboxing practice.

Helena carelessly abandoned the fallen punching bag with the mess of iron chains that followed, knowing she'll take care of it later when she cleans up, or maybe tomorrow when she resumes the training routine.

Strolling to the makeshift counter and automatically the open cabinet where she displayed her weapons, Helena mused.. which one should she start off with?

She unstrapped her protective gloves, tossing them into the drawer where she kept other gears before tracing her fingers over the sniper rifle she purchased two weeks ago and eventually deciding otherwise.

Then came the half dozen handguns she owned, the pump-action shotgun she felt like keeping as a souvenir, and finally her crossbow, the most authentic item on the shelf.

She picked it up, typical, she'd almost always start with her collapsible crossbow, and loaded up on her arrows.

After leaving the weapons station and walking back towards the center of the court, Helena firmly positioned herself to shoot. She began, her aim becoming more accurate by each shot, and she eventually settled into a rhythm of consecutive bulls-eyes.

It was rather impressive, turning the underground level of her home into a personal gym which facilitated several target shooting ranges, a multitude of fitness equipments and served as a storage compound for her more _daring_ belongings – and she did it all by herself, in secret.

Of course, she was incognito, a wanted serial killer in Starling City grounds but she wasn't completely on the chopping block with her staying in the outskirts of Hub City, a town about two and a half hours away from Starling through a drive on her bike.

It wasn't that the town was backhanded or old fashioned, it was a far cry from it being rather metropolitan as well, just nowhere as large and extravagant as her former home city.

She had to get away once more.

From Quentin, that smart-aleck detective who's tailing after her..

From Oliver who's made himself more of an enemy rather than a common associate (okay, maybe vigilantes were one of a kind)..

And for her chase.

She had to keep moving forward. Sure, her father wasn't going to be wearing orange behind bars for the rest of his life (it was too good to be true, she was right) since the bastard had cut a deal with the government for protection, a new identity and so on that he'd literally disappeared off the grid.

Doesn't mean she couldn't try finding him. Doesn't mean she should give up and leave it at that.

Helena didn't accept defeat. She has to, she must win. And she'll only gain victory when Frank Bertinelli lies cold, alone, without a pulse, six feet under his tomb.

She wasn't going to murder him in the name of love, even her undying love for Michael (which is why she hasn't been wearing her cross for the past month, realizing that respecting and honoring the relationship she had with Michael means she's not going to fool herself by using it as an anchor, a reason, some sort of justification for her actions), her ex-fiance whose grave she can never visit again without the underlying risk of capture.. hell she wasn't even doing it for justice as she once claimed.. it was plain revenge, and she knew it, not even feeling the slightest twinge of shame in the wake of her understanding.

So, Oliver was right. Slaughtering bands of triads, members and connected allies of her father's mafia empire, and even just about anyone who got in her way – it wasn't justice.

But hell, she couldn't care less. It felt good each time she felt she was one step closer to sending her own blood father to his own death, and she wasn't going to stop until her mission is complete. The ecstasy felt like closure, like relief.

Gone was the rational young lady her late mother raised her to be. There was only a broken shell of the gentle beauty, and within was left her blackened, violent, unforgiving heart.

She bought a new place for herself with some money from her remaining unfrozen accounts. She had to live somewhere, have a home base or sorts for her operations. The house was a fine single floor (not counting the basement) ranch style home, not too small and not too large.

It was an average suburban home, rather spacious if you count there was only a young woman who lived there, utterly alone. But under the circumstances of her unusual occupation, it was ordinary and loneliness was nothing but a tolerable nuisance. Helena quite like it. Secure, auspicious, quite elegant in the inside, she had nothing more to ask.

To remain more subtle in caution, she didn't intend to make any friends, and it was easy given the fact that her neighborhood was pretty much deserted, and to not include herself in any social groups whenever she has to head into the inner districts for recon, a list job (yes, she was actually inspired to make a list of the people who wronged her – mostly anyone in breach of her father's circle much like Oliver's, only his was for the ones who sucked the wealth out of Starling and caused shit for people) or even merely shopping (grocery, clothes, shoes, firearms, you name it) - a girl's got needs after all.

And boy, did Helena have a big one when it comes to her cry for blood.

Sweat trailed down her eyebrow, and Helena hungrily went to fill the weapon with another set of dozen arrows once it ran out empty, not quite satisfied with the job she's done on the targets previously - immediately beginning anew, wanting higher and higher precision in her marks.

It was restless, her cause to live that is. But there was no rest for the wicked.

At least.. not until the end of her crucible.


End file.
